In Defense of Civilization
by Zaedah
Summary: He fears indulging that secret beast too often, as it occasionally breaks its leash, leading to eruptions when unbidden.
1. Chapter 1

**In Defense of Civilization**

Arguments are the basis and sustainer of all good society. Many generations of civilized people could vouch for the validity of that statement. True, arguments have been known to precipitate wars, but many a constructive exchange of thoughts have sprung from the utterance of an angry word. One might surmise that the practice of arguing aids in the furthering of a democratic pollination of ideas.

Said practice is not, however, a harbinger of decent sleeping arrangements. So declared the man on the couch.

He wanted to tell her he was merely indulging in the acknowledged backbone of society. The impulse for automatic gainsaying of her domestic theories was simply a defense of civilization. Rescind the right of verbal sparring and the foundation of humanity is decimated. Anarchy would degrade into cold chaos with the lack of fuel for the fire. In reality, he's protecting an age-old privilege; it was mankind's duty to promote freedom of speech. Mind, it was hard to explain this through a thick door, much less a thick head; certainly both barriers were now locked against him.

Banned from the inner chamber previously designated a favorite cohabitation spot, he was left to ponder his justification upon the scratchy surface of tonight's bed. Cushions had gained a measure of vindictive firmness in the span of an hour. Just this morning it had provided spongy comfort to their coffee breakfast, back when the day had seemed so promising.

He forgets sometimes.

From a daily position of authority, he can cut down the most respected persons with a growled word. Admittedly, there's a feral enjoyment of the resultant squirms and shudders. When one is obsessed with control, the satisfaction of achieving it is powerful. He fears indulging that secret beast too often, as it occasionally breaks its leash, leading to eruptions when unbidden. Like tonight.

He forgets too many times.

In this place, authority is supposed to be carefully deposited at the doorstep before entering, as two souls engaged in intense personal attachment should have no forced dominion over each other. Here such tainted habits require a twelve-step program to alter, an effort made easier by the natural deterrent of her talents. But like any good addict, his instincts seek to emerge before the brain can halt the progress. Rather than temptation, he can be thwarted by carelessness. Sometimes the words will remain seated in his head, but when voice accompanies thought, imprudence tumbles out ahead of recognition of where the sound will be directed.

The slamming of the door left no mistake as to the punishment for lack of tongue control.

Civilization, containing a present population of one, seemed a waste of good company. But his firm belief in the intrinsic right of mankind to fight without bloodshed kept his arms crossed in defiance. Not that anyone bore witness to the self-righteous posturing. A mere plank of wood separated them but the barricade would not suffer a placating knock of diplomacy. Apologies, she'd told him once, weren't worth the oxygen required to speak them. Lies used the same hot air for travel. He'd learned that while a work-related fight could be soothed with a quick 'sorry,' relationship mistakes failed to melt under the radiance of halfhearted admissions of guilt.

Surely brutal wars were resolved with less emotional reflection than arguments with her demanded. He couldn't just be sorry. He had to be able to explain the measure of his crime. It was her way of trying to change him, it seemed. Not that it was entirely unwelcome. Not changing according to his mate's needs had led to the dissolution of his last relationship. And those old battles had been fought with much sharper weapons. The arsenal that lay behind the door was oiled with love, reducing the frequency and softening the blow.

Rising from the sofa, he slowly navigated through the dividing waters of anger between them. Treaty in hand, contact was made with the door, which swung open to reveal the opposing party. She sat on the bed, looking like a queen to his jester. Groveling was an acquired skill, one she'd thankfully never made him attain. And no matter how they may struggle with maintaining fury, both knew it could never last. He would always be forgiven his untamed tongue. And she would always push him to master control over it.

Though fighting was a crucial and natural consequence of society's movement of thought, there would be no more democratic pollinations of ideas tonight. Civilization would have to defend itself without him; his argument was left on the couch. Because hers, wrapped in waves of peace, was infinitely better.


	2. Chapter 2

A most humble thanks for checking in for part two. In the interest of fairness, Natalie must be heard...

**In Defense of Civilization**

**Part Two**

Arguments, for all their give and sway, were a stabilizing factor in life. Like cables tied to a radio tower, the tension cords gripped tight enough for support but loose enough to permit movement. The association of strong wills ensures friction in the movement, but the ties keep them from bouncing apart after impact.

A dispute voiced was evidence that there was something worth fighting over…and for. Differences of opinion proved that conversation occurred in a relationship. There were people who never discussed things, which allowed no flourishing of intellectual divergence. Disagreements were hard to come by when there were no passionate thoughts to defend. As much as a peaceful person hungers after harmony, monotony can creep into tranquility. It rusts the works, leading to the sort of discontent that disintegrates into relationship rubble.

In truth, their fights were frequently about no particular subject of note. Rather the sparring was typically born of tired minds relaxing the grip on practice-sharpened tongues. Humans were constructed with prickly buttons and an inherent fascination with pushing those of others. And as though it were a genetic duty, the man just couldn't pass up buttons. It was a compulsion, one proving difficult to tame. But while being put upon was vexing, he'd always made it worth the exertion.

She'd known from the start that it was she who would be required to retreat from the battlefield when a skirmish left safe territory. She'd learned that he would always advance, his convictions unmade for any other direction but forward. Her own points would retract, if not reverse, just enough to move out of range, trusting that as he regrouped, some form of calm would settle his soldiers into line. Only then would he be ready to seek concession under a reluctant banner of peace.

It wasn't that he didn't like peace. Far from it. But it was a bit like visiting another country; the map is there but the language is foreign. The streets turn him around and in discomfort he'd resort to diving into the embassy of familiar tactics. She is the tour guide of the land of relationships and sometimes she had his full attention and something close to cooperation. But then he'd get distracted and tune her out when the bus hit a bumpy road.

Despite their steadfast joining, he tended to operate as though he were unattached. Being part of a pair was strangely alien for a previously married man. Which explained a lot, she supposed. But she craved the connection of souls, though the daily task of reasserting it was exhausting.

He tries. But he forgets.

And so she never let him see her cry, knowing the tears would drip cold guilt into him faster than any accusation. Though it would make a good lesson, it was not one she was keen to teach. Because he took too long to recover from such things, the brooding an automatic response to be avoided. It was easier for her to forgive him than it was for him to forgive himself. And she suspected he counts on that.

He tries.

Hiding in their room was awfully childish for a grown woman. The door slamming was a nice touch, just in case he hadn't noticed the departure. The vibrations were probably registering on someone's Richter scale. Their seismic energy could trigger earthquakes when they were content. When at war, the earth's axis shifted to absorb the impact. He'd be contemplating his options right now and she watched the knob for the signal of decision.

The door much preferred a gentle treatment, such as he was giving it now. Contriteness shadowed him but her serenity chased it away. He failed to apologize, her view of such futility well established by now. It wasn't necessary to earn clemency. A free pardon always waited at the conclusion of the fight. It helped that he sought it humbly rather than expected it with some sense of entitlement.

He tries and eventually he'll learn. In civilization, peace is always better.


End file.
